You may have heard about California’s famous drought. We are capturing water in pitchers and canning pots to water what isn’t on drip. We take skimpy showers and let some of the mown grass go dry (but not enough to be a fire danger–there’s a tricky balance)
Two storms slid down from San Francisco and brought a respectable amount of precipitation. We hear word of snow in the Sierras.
The cement and boulders glisten, and then the sun spreads her arms out under the clouds in an operatic gesture.
In fact, the whole scene was theatrical, and we watch it from under the 15-foot overhang. It isn’t cold, even though a wind, which usually comes upriver, strong and slow as a heron’s wingbeat, came downriver, a bit blustery, from Kings Canyon.
We watched the drops bead down like a curtain. Guests came the next day, 40 or so, with 15 or 20 kids of all ages. The rain hadn’t stopped, so we pulled 5 tables under the overhang for lunch and cake and presents. Inside the kids played Twister. The teenagers checked their phones. Even if the baby’s nickname is Popcorn, I plan to discourage kettle corn in the future–still, the bamboo floors clean easily (3+ years and I still love ’em!).
As the rain ended, it was time for the heron parade. As I’ve often said, you could watch this wonder from a pup-tent or a travel trailer or a converted shipping container, but the way this house frames the beauty makes it that much grander–and it’s comfortable in the Stua armchair, safe from the elements, as welcome as those elements may be!
One friend who comes from a religious family said the way the sun comes streaming from the clouds makes him think of God and Heaven. I’ll take that as a blessing.